Breaking with Tradition
by fawny
Summary: The green-eyed boy pauses, holding the flower out to her. "It reminded me of you." Percy/Annabeth.


First story uploaded in months, so I'm really, really rusty. But it's also my first PJO story, so I feel less like a couch potato now. :x

REVISED: 7/8/10

* * *

Over the months following Kronos's defeat, Percy and Annabeth spend most of their time together. This might be too much for normal couples, but he can't get enough of her and she wants to soak in every second of him, so they're both okay with this. After all, they used to be best friends who spent a lot of time at the other's side as best friends do; nothing's really changed except that instead of being _Percy and Annabeth_, they're _PercyandAnnabeth_ now. A little more awkward and a little clumsier but just as close, just as _happy_ as before.

And one of the things that Annabeth loves about Percy is his spontaneity. Monday to Saturday is completely unplanned on his part, but she cherishes each moment. She's the organized one in their relationship, anyway, so it's balanced out. Besides, just being with him is enough to make her giggle and titter like a ditzy, prepubescent girl (which Annabeth is _not,_ of course).

But Sundays are different. Every Sunday, they meet up in Central Park at 9:00 AM, which is early enough for her to eat breakfast and late enough for him to wake up. They always go to the same spot, a big elm tree far enough from the trails that passersby usually don't interrupt them.

It's their special tradition—maybe their only tradition—and Annabeth would never admit it, but she's secretly glad for it. Yes, she adores Percy's make-it-up-as-I-go-along attitude, but it's nice to have some order every so often. And their Sundays provide that order. Percy knows this, and she's proud of him for abiding by their unspoken rule for the most part.

Today, though, he's late. At precisely 9:00, she's sitting under the tree and playing with the grass strands growing around the elm's wide trunk, picking them and twirling them absently about her fingers. A few minutes pass. Still he's not there.

Did he oversleep? Is he eating breakfast for once? Usually he forgoes it and opts for a big brunch instead, something that she's always scolded him about doing, but maybe he's finally taken her words to heart. Her satisfaction at this cannot fully extinguish her irritation, however. After all, if he wants to eat breakfast before they get together, he should wake up earlier next time.

Or maybe he just forgot about their tradition entirely.

They have a _tradition_, she thinks to herself, aggravated. Percy is a spur-of-the-moment guy. Annabeth gets that, really; she even likes it. But on Sundays, _they have a tradition_. And spontaneous or not, he simply cannot break traditions. No. She's just working up a tirade of heated words to throw at him (_Percy Jackson you insensitive tradition-breaking wart I can't believe you forgot_) when he appears out of thin air, clutching a delicate white flower in his right hand.

Oh no. No way is she going to be mollified by a flower, and she's about to inform him of this when he pants, "Sorry I'm late. I just—I stopped to pick you a flower." He lifts it up for her to see.

It really is a pretty flower, she notices. It's long and elegant and such a pure shade of white. While part of her feels rather flattered that he made this gesture, the other half clings stubbornly to her annoyance.

"I was on my way when I saw this flower," he explains as he plops down beside her. "I—I had to pick it, even if it made me late. Did I mention how sorry I am about that, by the way?"

"Yes," she replies tightly. "So tell me: why did you just _have_ to pick it?"

The green-eyed boy pauses, holding the flower out to her. "It reminded me of you," he says. There's uncertainty in his eyes, as though he's afraid that she's going to throw the flower to the ground and stomp on it.

Instead, she takes it, her anger evaporated, and kisses him.

(Okay, so he had a good reason for breaking with tradition this time. But next time he'd _better_ have a million flowers and be groveling at her feet, or so help her Zeus he'll be praying to the gods for mercy when she finishes with him.)

* * *

Aahh, I'm melting in the cheesiness and lame ending. But what can I say? I'm a sucker for fluff. xDD


End file.
